


The Hound that dominates

by kinky_fucker



Series: I like my pairings rare [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Book accurate!Iron Throne, Boys Kissing, Choking Kink, Dream Sex, Face-Fucking, Gay Sex, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Joffrey Baratheon is a Little Shit, Joffrey has a kink, M/M, Minor Joffrey Baratheon/Sansa Stark, POV Joffrey Baratheon, Poor Sansa Stark, Rare Pairings, Wet Dream, short sex scene, underage by modern standards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinky_fucker/pseuds/kinky_fucker
Summary: Joffrey and the Hound get into an altercation. Both walk away alive and Joffrey has some strange feelings to deal with.
Relationships: Joffrey Baratheon/Sandor Clegane
Series: I like my pairings rare [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932403
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	The Hound that dominates

**Author's Note:**

> Does it count as underage if it's a dream? 
> 
> Anyway, this is what my brain comes up with when I search for rare pairings. Enjoy ^_^

Joffrey, _King_ Joffrey, sat upon the Iron Throne. He towered so mightily over the rest of court. He was dressed in fineries befitting a king, roaring lions and proud stags decorated his crimson tunic. Upon his head sat his crown, the bright gold standing in contrast to the twisted iron of the throne. Down, way below him, the Stark girl was crying. She was on her knees before the throne, pleading innocent for her traitor brother’s actions. And how could Joffrey believe her? The King has Seven Kingdoms to rule. One King, Seven Kingdoms. He could almost hear his father’s booming voice now. And so many responsibilities were shouldered by the one who wears the crown. A King cannot be burdened with petty matters such as this. She was connected to two traitors by blood, she could turn just like they did. And so she must be kept in line.

_Mother insists on keeping her alive,_ he thought. _And says a King must never strike his lady._

“Ser Trant,” he called down, the kingsguard craning his neck to look up at his king. “I fear my lady is overdressed. Unburden her.” Ser Trant nodded and stepped over to Sansa. She let out one last cry for mercy before Trant hauled her up and struck her in the stomach. She doubled over, falling back to the floor when her legs were targeted next. This part of Joffrey’s instructions were unspoken but Trant knew his King well. Besides, a word is all that was needed to stop anything that displeased him. 

He leant forward, gripping onto the armrests as Trant tore the girl’s clothes. The ripping sound seemed to echo around the throne room, pale flesh exposed. Her shoulder, arm, collar bone, and even a part of her breast were seen before she covered herself up. Even from this distance, he could see the tears well up in her eyes again as her bottom lip wobbled slightly. His grip tightened, the still sharp sword biting back, as his enjoyment flourishing. 

And then, his cursed imp of an uncle strolled in, putting an end to his fun. That sellsword, an awfully common man, trailed him as they parted the lords and ladies of the court. A scowl crossed his royal lips, green eyes narrowing at them. 

“Nephew, we have been sent to retrieve Lady Sansa,” the imp called up to him.

“By whose orders?” His demanded. Who would dare challenge his- _the king’s_ authority?

“Your Hand, Lord Tywin.”

_Ah_. This gave Joffrey pause. His grandfather did scare him, as much as he loathed to think it, and he knew better than to argue especially over the Stark girl. He waved a hand, dismissing them. The imp helped up the girl and the three of them left swiftly. Joffrey sat back in his throne, brows furrowed. His mood was spoiled and so he dismissed court entirely. As the lords and ladies left, he descended the narrow set of stairs. His fists clenched as he struggled to balance kingly grace with not actually falling. He soon reached the bottom and called the Lannister dog to his side. Trant was about half a step behind the king, the hound a few steps further back as they walked. 

As they left the throne room and entered the corridors of the Red Keep, he turned to Trant to talk. “Well done Ser. Now only if the imp hadn’t of spoiled it all.”

“Indeed, your grace,” Trant replied, giving Joffrey a smile that reflected the king’s own pleasure. 

“And how about you, dog? What did you think?” Joffrey asked, throwing his words over his shoulder. The Hound said nothing and kept pace with the king. “Of course, dog’s don’t think, silly me. Perhaps I should send you after my uncle, teach him not to interrupt the king. And then, maybe I’ll have you pay a visit to my lady’s chambers. After all, she still needs punishing for her traitor brother’s-”

Suddenly, he was grabbed and slammed up against the nearest wall. The Hound’s hideously scarred face loomed into view, large paw wrapped around his throat pinning him there. A snarl was on his face, eyes narrowed as emotion burned within them. Anger coursed down his arm and Joffrey could feel the raw and powerful energy as though lightning were striking him. Shock took ahold but he saw metal flash and Ser Trant’s blade was pressed to the Hound’s throat. 

“Unhand the king!” He barked. “Unhand him now, dog!”

The paw released his throat, the Hound backing away. Joffrey’s throat was sore from the rough treatment but he did not show weakness by indicating so. Trant moved to place himself between the king and the dog, sword still raised and pointed at the other ser. 

“Away dog,” Joffrey dismissed, hating how hoarse his voice sounded. There was a beat of surprise before the Hound skulked off, rounding a corner to be out of sight. Trant turned to him, sheathing his sword as a minor dubious look crossed his features.

“Your grace, his head should be on a spike for daring to do such a thing,” Trant urged.

“Just escort me to my chambers. And if you should breathe a word of this, Ser Trant…” Joffrey threatened. Trant just nodded and the two were quick to turn and continue walking. 

* * *

Trant too was dismissed when Joffrey was in his chambers. A servant was sent to fetch some honeyed milk. His throat needed some soothing and he would not have his head clouded with wine. He gruffly sent the servant away as soon as the milk was in hand, the door being shut by the kingsguard stationed outside his room. He was not sure who stood guard. Perhaps his other uncle, Ser Jamie, stood there. But was it really such a good idea to have the King Slayer guard him? He sipped the sweet milk and paced, thinking hard. 

The Hound, his loyal dog, had turned on him. Normally he’d be furious and that hideous head would be stuck on a spike before sundown. But different feelings bubbled in him now. He was pacing now, back and forth beside his grand bed. He brushed against the wooden posts, continuing to take small sips. Should he have listened to Trant? He’s the King, he doesn’t _have_ to do anything. 

He sighed and turned to face the bed. What would his father do? Laugh it off? Cave in the other man’s breastplate as he did at the Trident? He’d be soothed by the whores in his bed whatever the case. Joffrey tried picturing whores in the giant bed. None of the images his mind came up with interested him. He thought of the Stark girl and sneered. She’s only good to be beaten. There was talk of the Rose of Highgarden, Margery Tyrell. Joffrey had heard of her beauty and he’d also heard how she was married to his uncle Renly. _Yet another woman in bed with traitors,_ he thought bitterly. 

He let his thoughts wander as he drank half of the milk in big gulps. Memories of the Hound’s hand wrapped around his throat stirred up and he remembered the raw power. He shuddered. His neck could have been snapped in half, windpipe crushed in an instant. Despite how his eyes burned with such hate and anger, he made no move to do so. His nails dug in slightly, fingers squeezing _just so-_

His breeches felt very tight all of a sudden and he glanced down. His cock had tented the material in obvious arousal. That can’t be right. This only happened when men thought of women and the Hound was certainly no woman. He thought of boring things to get it back to normal. Long small council meetings about the royal treasury with Pycelle’s voice droning on and on, having to make small talk with small lords, his mother nagging him as though he were a child still.

He set the milk down and climbed into bed. His cock had returned to normal thankfully and now he decided to have a nap. King he might be, but surely the Kingdoms can survive without him for an hour or two. That’s what the Hand and council are for, after all. He slipped under the feather filled quilt and drifted off.

* * *

_Joffrey opened the door and stepped into his chambers. The Hound lounged upon his bed, topless. Joffrey stood stunned for a moment before shutting the door and making his way over to the bed._

“Your Grace,” _The Hound greeted with a bow of his shaggy head. His voice was as gruff as usual but less bitter._

_Joffrey joined him on the bed, feeling very small beside him. He couldn’t help but glance at the man’s chest. It was board, muscle-bound as one would imagine, covered in thick hair and scars. The Hound laughed in amusement and Joffrey looked up, meeting those intensely grey eyes._

“I suppose I should use your name,” _he commented, feeling awkward and hating it._ “Sandor,” _he tried out, the word feeling clumsy in his mouth._

 _Sandor lent forward._ “And yours too, King Joffrey.”

 _Joffrey shivered._ “But...I thought this was a dream?”

“That just means this doesn’t count,” _Sandor smirked. Before Joffrey could question his words, Sandor kissed him. The King kissed back, bringing his hands up to push against the slab of muscle that was the other man’s chest. The Hound laid back and Joffrey broke the kiss to scoot up and onto his chest. His tunic was now gone, breeches unlaced with his erect manhood now out. Joffrey scooted up higher, cock resting against Sandor’s mouth._

_His tongue swiped over Joffrey’s cock and he was eager to jam the length into the other man’s mouth. Sandor didn’t protest even as Joffrey humped his face with all the grace of a rutting dog. The tight, wet heat of Sandor’s mouth made Joffrey pant. He gripped the man’s hair tightly as he continued to skullfuck him. Sandor sucked and licked, large hands grabbing ahold of the king’s thighs to pull him even closer. He began to thrust, his pace erratic and fast, nearing his climax. He came a few thrusts later, spilling his seed into the man’s mouth, before sliding off of him._

_Sandor swallowed before cleaning Joffrey’s cock, the king shivering as he was slightly sensitive._

“This doesn’t count,” _Joffrey breathlessly said. Sandor just smirked at the king._

* * *

  
  


He awoke abruptly and sat up. His vision was blurry but his hand found a wet spot between his legs. He jolted at this, embarrassment rising. Surely he hadn’t pissed the bed like a child? He blinked and inspected the wet patch. It was seed. He had spilt seed because of his dream.

  
What the hell did _that_ mean?


End file.
